


Spirit Ditties of No Tone

by pansythoughts



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, courting, poetry quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 16:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansythoughts/pseuds/pansythoughts
Summary: Jehan Prouvaire was laboring under three, heavy truths. The first: Christmas was in two weeks. The second: he (to his pleasant surprise) had a lover. The third: he had absolutely no idea what to give his lover for Christmas.





	Spirit Ditties of No Tone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kujaku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kujaku/gifts).



Jehan Prouvaire was laboring under three, heavy truths. The first: Christmas was in two weeks. The second: he (to his pleasant surprise) had a lover. The third: he had absolutely no idea what to give his lover for Christmas.

It had been plaguing him for weeks. Jehan loved giving gifts; he was often known to bring sweets to meetings, or present his friends with small trinkets he’d seen that he thought they would like. His sheepish smile and casual “just because”’s were notorious among his vast collection of loved ones. Seeing them smile was Jehan’s joy.

But Montparnasse was a mystery. Sure, Jehan understood his aesthetic: dark, classic, and impeccably fitted. And sure, there were plenty of things he thought Montparnasse would like. But Jehan could never hope to satisfy Montparnasse’s aesthetic sense, as diametrically opposed as his own was, and besides, Montparnasse seemed to acquire everything he liked without too much issue.

Which left Jehan at his current impasse. 

“Jehan!” Courfeyrac called out across the bar’s high table, startling Jehan out of his thoughts. “You still with us, bud? You’ve been all quiet.”

“Yeah, normally you would have quoted three poems and made a morbid joke by now,” Bahorel chimed in with a laugh.

 _“I know not, but I feel it, and I am in torment,”_ Jehan muttered back, sticking out his tongue at Bahorel. 

Bahorel laughed again, loudly. “There’s our poet back! What’s eating you friend, we’re supposed to be celebrating! Why aren’t you enjoying this blessed weekend before finals?” 

“Is everything ok?” Feuilly asked, gaze flicking down to Jehan’s barely touched drink.

“It’s, well, it’s silly,” Jehan replied, looking down at the table; he could feel a blush rising on his neck and cheeks. “Er, well, I don’t know what to get ‘Parnasse for Christmas, and I’ve been kind of, dwelling on it?”

“‘Parnasse? That’s the guy you’ve been seeing, right?” Courfeyrac asked. Jehan nodded. 

“Don’t you know him, Feuilly? You said you recognized him that time Jehan brought him around to mug night at the Musain,” Bahorel said, gesturing widely in Feuilly’s direction.

“Yeah, we grew up in the same neighborhood,” Feuilly confirmed, swatting at Bahorel’s hand with a grimace. Bahorel grinned back. Jehan cast hopeful eyes to his friend.

“Then do you know what he would like?” Jehan asked eagerly. 

“Not… really,” Feuilly replied, haltingly. “We haven’t exactly kept up, Jehan.” 

Jehan deflated. “Oh, yes, of course.”

“Shouldn’t you know what he likes, Jehan? He’s your boyfriend,” Courfeyrac pointed out, not unkindly.

“That’s the thing though,” Jehan said, picking up his drink and gazing into its depths rather sullenly. “I should know what he wants, but every time I think of something he’d like, I think he must already have it, or worry that he will just buy it for himself.” Jehan took a drink, and continued, “Montparnasse is very impulsive. Byronic. It’s charming.”

“Byronic, huh,” Courfeyrac said, with a hint of scepticism. 

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something, even if it’s frustrating you now,” Feuilly said, giving Courfeyrac a _be nice_ look. “Maybe especially because it’s frustrating you; you can be kind of single-minded.”

 _“The great object of life is sensation--to feel we exist, even though in pain,”_ Jehan quoted, punctuating the thought with another drink. 

“Now, with that settled,” Bahorel began, “I propose weekend-before-finals shots!” His proposal was met with mixed enthusiasm (primarily from Courfeyrac), and groans (primarily from Feuilly). 

Jehan smiled at his friends, enjoying their antics and letting them distract him.

~~~

Just under a year ago, Jehan met Montparnasse in a graveyard.

It had been New Year’s Eve, a little after midnight. Jehan had slipped out of Courfeyrac’s apartment, tipsy but rapidly sobering, only quietly making his goodbyes to group D.D. Combeferre (so someone, at least, knew he had gone). He was in the mood for quiet reflection, and didn’t want to bring down the raucous mood of his gathered friends.

He made his way back towards the university campus, and pivoted from there to the old church graveyard. It was fenced in, of course, but Jehan had never let that stop him before, and he drew himself up and over the wall with practiced ease.

Jehan’s favorite spot to think was the crumbling old bench settled under a live oak, near the back of the graveyard. There were no graves too close that would be disturbed by his presence, and he liked to feel the pockmarks time had left in the stone seat under his fingers. It focused him, calmed him. The live oak’s branches twisted upward to his left, and even in late winter without its leaves it was strange and lovely.

Then, suddenly, Jehan realized he wasn’t alone.

A tall, slender figure was striding towards him, clearly hurried (as if, possibly, in escape) but utterly composed. Jehan couldn’t make out features in the dim light, but the word _sharp_ floated up in his mind.

It didn’t occur to Jehan to be concerned, to be afraid of this person striding directly towards him. It was like something out of one of Jehan’s favorite poems, a chance encounter under the light of the moon. As the figure drew closer, Jehan began to pick out his features. High, gaunt cheekbones, dark hair, even darker eyes. They were lovely eyes.

The figure stopped by Jehan’s oak tree. He flicked a glance towards Jehan, and raised an eyebrow.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Jehan blurted out, unthinkingly, and felt himself blush up to the roots of his hair.

The man chuckled. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he replied with a small smirk. His voice was a rich baritone. It was a nice voice.

 _“Whoever you are holding me now in hand,”_ Jehan muttered. The stranger quirked an eyebrow at him again, but his smirk didn’t drop. Jehan gathered his courage, and said, louder, “my name’s Jehan Prouvaire. What’s your name?”

“Jehan, hmm,” the stranger said, rather than questioned. Jehan liked how his name sounded in that baritone. After a beat, the stranger continued, “my name is Montparnasse.”

Jehan gasped. “The home of the muses!”

“Pardon?” Montparnasse blinked, once.

“Montparnasse, Mount Parnassus, the home of the nine muses! _Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story..._ Oh, you have a lovely name.”

“I’m not sure anyone has ever made that connection before.”

“But that’s a shame, there are so many good stories that connect to Mount Parnassus! There’s the Dionysian Mysteries, the Oracle at Delphi, Orpheus…” Jehan blinked, coming back to himself, and blushed again. “But I’m probably boring you, I’m sorry, you didn’t come out here to listen to me,” Jehan trailed off.

Montparnasse crossed the space between them in two long strides, and sat down next to Jehan on the bench. Montparnasse moved with effortless grace, Jehan noticed idly. 

“On the contrary,” Montparnasse said, “you should tell me about them.”

So Jehan did, starting with the nine muses, and how Mount Parnassus was associated with music and poetry. He told Montparnasse how sometimes people would go to the mountain and aim to lose themselves--in drink, substance, or song-- to lose their inhibitions, to die and be reborn again. Jehan told him of Apollo, of the oracle, of Pythia and Python and the cloyingly sweet smell of prophecies. He told him of Orpheus, who doomed his love because he could not trust her, or trust death to be kind.

And Montparnasse, this beautiful stranger, listened to it all. He only interrupted once, to ask if Jehan would mind if he smoked. Jehan shook his head, and continued telling stories wrapped up in the smell of tobacco and cloves.

When they parted, sometime later, Montparnasse said “I’ll see you around, Jehan.” Jehan wrapped that thought around him like a blanket when he made it back to his own apartment, and dreamed of Calliope smoking a clove cigarette.

~~~

Three days after the celebratory night out with Bahorel, Feuilly and Courfeyrac, Jehan found himself having lunch with Joly and Bossuet. Jehan had had a test earlier in the day. Bossuet had found Jehan, slightly dazed in the university coffee shop, declared that Jehan needed food and comedy, and dragged him to meet Joly at a cafe.

While Bossuet was not the med student in his relationship, his diagnosis had certainly been sound, and as their food arrived Jehan found himself giggling endlessly and feeling much more human.

Jehan adored his friends.

A quiet settled over the group as they began to eat, giving Jehan a moment to think. He was still stuck on the question of what to give Montparnasse, and Christmas was drawing ever closer.

“Joly, Bossuet,” Jehan began, putting down his sandwich, “you’re lovers, right?”

“Yes?” Joly asked, looking at Bossuet. Bossuet nodded, and made a gesture to tell Jehan _go on_ as he chewed.

“And you have a girlfriend, yeah?” Jehan continued.

Bossuet nodded again, and Joly hummed. Jehan’s eyes lit up.

“So, theoretically, you both would be double experts on romantic gift giving!” Jehan said, excitedly.

“I’m not sure it works that way, Jehan,” Bossuet said, frowning. “Does it work that way?” Bossuet asked Joly.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Joly confirmed. 

Jehan’s smile turned down in to a pout. “Oh,” he said, his earlier exuberance gone.

“We can definitely try to help if you’re stuck on something though?” Joly offered, hesitantly. Bossuet nodded at Joly, then nodded at Jehan. No one liked to see Jehan sad.

“Well, the thing is, Christmas. And Montparnasse,” Jehan said, as if that explained it. 

“Ah, I understand. The first time giving your partner a Christmas gift,” Joly nodded sagely, rubbing his nose with a knuckle.

“It's hard, it's really hard and scary,” Bossuet added.

“Yeah! You get it!” Jehan exclaimed. “I have no idea what to get him, and it’s so frustrating, and Christmas is getting so close! _We can not make our sun stand still!”_

“Calm down, breathe Jehan, its ok,” Bossuet said, reaching across the table to put his hand on top of Jehan’s. Jehan took a deep breath; he hadn’t realized he had stopped.

“My best advice would be to think about things he likes, and to think about things he’s mentioned enjoying. You can put together something good by remembering little details,” Joly said. Bossuet nodded along.

“But what if he already got himself that thing he likes? What if he didn’t mean to drop a hint, and then he’ll have two!” Jehan replied.

“Then that would be bad luck, and trust me, I know about that,” Bossuet said. “The best thing to do then is to just laugh; that’s what I do at least.”

“Your first Christmas gift doesn’t have to be perfect Jehan; you haven’t even been dating this guy for a year, right? You’re young, you have time,” Joly said, tone placating.

“You’re right,” Jehan answered, sounding a little dejected.

Bossuet reached over and ruffled Jehan’s hair. “No matter what, it’ll be ok. It’s you, Jehan. Everyone loves anything you give them.”

~~~

A few weeks after meeting Montparnasse in the graveyard, Jehan realized he was being courted.

Jehan had been afraid that the chance encounter would be the last time he would see Montparnasse. The timing was too perfect, the place too atmospheric, the way events unfolded far too enjoyable to be anything but his own imagination. It was the kind of meeting one only had in Gothic novels, or Romantic poems. Jehan was half-sure, in the morning, that Montparnasse had been a ghost.

But then, three days later, a tiny parcel had shown up in his student mailbox, wrapped in crinkled brown paper. Inside, he found a rubber snake, a piece of chocolate, and a note. 

_Python rotted in to something ‘cloyingly sweet,’ right?_ The note had read, and, _Did you know you’re the only Prouvaire in the student directory?_ Jehan had tucked the note and the snake in to his pocket, popped the chocolate in his mouth, and grinned broadly for the rest of the day.

From there, it felt like Jehan began to see Montparnasse everywhere. Montparnasse would be smoking on the steps of the quad with Marius’ friend Eponine, or else entering the art building trailing behind Grantaire. Jehan wasn’t sure Montparnasse was a student, but that hardly mattered, not when every time Jehan passed, Montparnasse would look up to catch his eye. Jehan blushed, every time without fail, but it made him smile to know Montparnasse’s attention was on him.

Trinkets kept showing up in his mailbox, and then, mysteriously, on his doormat. Once it was a pressed pansy folded in to a note that read _the color of your eyes._ Another time, a bracelet that was clearly from some sorority with a tiny lyre charm, and a note that said _to remind you to trust._ Another time, notably, Jehan had found a perfectly intact finch’s skull; that note had read simply _where we met._

Even as Courfeyrac joked that he’d found himself a stray cat, Jehan had been elated. It didn’t matter that Jehan wasn’t sure how to contact Montparnasse, or that he blushed every time he so much as caught Montparnasse’s eye across the quad. Jehan was being _courted_ , and he loved it.

Jehan resolved to tell Montparnasse so the very next time he saw him. The opportunity came, however, much sooner than he expected, when Jehan was studying at the campus coffee shop one evening. Without announcing himself, Montparnasse slid in to the seat across from Jehan quite suddenly, and leaned his head on one hand and looked at Jehan. When Jehan looked up from his reading, he startled.

“You scared me!” Jehan said, rather obviously, putting a hand over his rapidly beating heart.

“That wasn’t my intention,” Montparnasse said, but the smirk didn’t drop from his face. _Liar,_ Jehan thought. “But you are so lovely when you blush.”

Jehan collected himself after another moment of blushing brighter at the compliment. Instead of acknowledging that directly, he ventured, quietly, “I liked the gifts.” Montparnasse’s smirk widened ever so slightly. Jehan wondered if Montparnasse ever truly smiled, and had the wild thought that he’d like to put one there.

“I hoped you might,” Montparnasse replied. “Trinkets and small, lovely things seem to suit you. As does your smile.”

“Can I have your phone number?” Jehan blurted. 

Montparnasse chuckled. “Anything for you, oh muse.”

From there, Jehan and Montparnasse began texting all the time. They traded details of their lives, insignificant things, and snippets of stories, ones Jehan knew by heart and ones Montparnasse was just learning. It was easy, easier than Jehan had known to expect, comfortable and warm in a way that most wouldn’t have guessed by looking at the pair of them. 

One day, weeks later, Jehan told Montparnasse, “you are the most beautiful person I have ever met.”

Montparnasse had replied, “Flattery really will get you everywhere, my lovely muse.”

When they kissed, Jehan couldn’t recall a moment when he’d been happier.

~~~

Jehan sat down heavily on the couch in Enjolras’ and Combeferre’s living room and frowned. Christmas was less than a week away, and he still had no idea what to get Montparnasse. He was supposed to be enjoying his time with Combeferre--whom he hadn’t seen in three weeks thanks to their respective undergrad and med school finals schedules--before their group holiday party later, but thoughts of his gift giving failure consumed him.

Combeferre sat down in the armchair next to him. “Penny for your thoughts?” He asked mildly.

“Combeferre, you’re the most brilliant person I know,” Jehan began, looking up to face Combeferre with a serious expression.

“Thank you?” Combeferre responded, somewhat taken aback.

“What do you give for Christmas to the man who has everything?” Jehan asked.

Combeferre blinked once, then chuckled. “That is a hard question, isn’t it?” he replied with a smile. 

“I’ve been struggling to come up with a good gift for Montparnasse,” Jehan admitted, serious expression shifting down in to a pout.

“Ah, that’s you lover, correct?” Combeferre asked. Jehan nodded; he liked that Combeferre always knew the right words. “Well, that’s serious then. Presents for lovers are important things, very serious matters.”

 _“Locked in foreverish time’s tide at poise, Love alone understands,”_ Jehan muttered.

 _“Only for whom I’ll keep my tryst until that tide shall turn,”_ Combeferre finished, nodding. “A serious thing indeed, and important to give the gift the weight it deserves.”

“Nobody else has gotten it, or been much… help,” Jehan said, a little pathetically. “They keep telling me that it doesn’t have to be perfect, and that I’ll come up with something because it’s me, but how is that supposed to help me when I’m the one that’s been struggling and I want it to be perfect?”

“Well, unfortunately,” Combeferre began gently, “I think they’re right Jehan.”

“How?”

“The way to make your gift the perfect thing is to have it be you. Or, rather more specifically, represent your feelings.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Combeferre.”

“A gift is a representation of how you feel; it shows the other person that you’re thinking about them, that they mean something to you, and that they merited, in some way, your time and effort.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“You’ve been struggling because this gift merits much of your time and effort; this is your lover, who you’ve come to care about very deeply.”

“...Ok, yes, that makes sense.”

“And so I know, and you know, that a gift is a meaningless object until we give it meaning by our feelings, until we can imbue it with our care for the recipient. A gift becomes perfect by being perfectly full of our feelings. Montparnasse will love anything you give him, because he will understand that it is full of your care. And, presumably, he cares for you in return, which will make whatever you give him much more important. It doesn’t have to be perfect, because the action of coming from you will make it perfect, Jehan.”

Jehan pieced this together slowly. Then, exclaimed, “You’re a genius Combeferre!”

Combeferre shook off the praise, and smiled. “I’m glad I was able to help.”

~~~

On Christmas Eve, Jehan was pacing in Montparnasse’s apartment.

Montparnasse was due home from his job at the jewelry store in fifteen minutes. They had plans to spend Christmas Eve together, and to exchange gifts tonight, as Jehan had family obligations in the morning. But while typically those plans would have delighted Jehan, he was nervous.

After agonizing over it for so long, Jehan had finally settled on a gift. He still had doubts, however. While he was certain Montparnasse was very unlikely to have what he had picked out, there was nonetheless a looming fear. What if he didn’t like it? Or worse, what if he tried to be polite about it?

Jehan shook his head. Montparnasse wasn’t one to be polite. He had to believe in Combeferre’s advice. He looked down at his wrist, at the little lyre charm he was wearing. A reminder to trust. Trust the Combeferre wouldn’t lie to him. Trust that Montparnasse would understand his sentiment.

Jehan heard the door open down the hall, and practically ran over to meet Montparnasse. He looked incredible as always, maybe even more so in his well cut work suit. In contrast, Jehan felt frumpy in his sweater and pajama pants, but Montparnasse almost smiled at the sight of him, a little quirk of the lips that filled Jehan’s stomach with butterflies.

“Hello, my muse,” Montparnasse said softly as he took Jehan in his arms.

“Hello love,” Jehan replied. “Merry Christmas.”

Jehan pulled Montparnasse over to the couch, and sat him down. Montparnasse quirked and eyebrow, but settled back, waiting.

“I want to give you your present now,” Jehan said, and went over to the tiny Christmas tree Jehan had convinced Montparnasse he needed. He grabbed his thin, poorly wrapped package, and turned around to present it to Montparnasse. 

As Montpanasse went to work unwrapping his gift, Jehan began to ramble. “I know its not a lot, but its something that made me think of you, and I thought you would like it, and I knew you wouldn’t have it so it seemed good but--”

“Jehan,” Monparnasse cut him off, “did you transcribe this yourself?”

“Oh. Yes,” Jehan said. He had bought a long, black canvas frame, and in a calligrapher’s hand written out Keat’s “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” There was a line that always made him think of Montparnasse. 

“Jehan. This is beautiful,” Montparnasse said, very seriously.

“Oh!” Jehan squeaked. 

Montparnasse carefully placed the canvas on the side table, and pulled Jehan in to his lap. Jehan squeaked again, but happily let himself be dragged down. Montparnasse lifted one hand to caress Jehan’s cheek, and then leaned in to kiss him.

 _“Beauty is truth, truth beauty_ , eh?” Montparnasse said, as they pulled apart.

“That always reminds me of you, and how we met,” Jehan replied sheepishly.

“You’re incredible, my muse,” Montparnasse said, and leaned in to kiss Jehan again.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Ode on a Grecian Urn" by John Keats. 
> 
> This fic terrified me, because Jehan has been one of my favorite characters for the past six years, but this is my first time writing him. Kujaku, I hope this is what you were looking for, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
